


as it comes (1x13)

by Zofiecfield



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Episode 1x13, Gen, One Shot, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26689150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zofiecfield/pseuds/Zofiecfield
Summary: Wynonna looks Bobo Del Ray dead in the eyes and fires.  (1x13 fic)
Kudos: 7





	as it comes (1x13)

She looks you dead in the eyes and the bullet comes.

In a certain walk of life, the line between cruelty and compassion is thin. So thin, in fact, it can only be seen with the clearest of eyes. Often smudged, often broken, it is unprepared for the weight it carries.

It’s a line you have walked time and time again. A line you have often leapt over with no hesitation, no indecision. A you have danced across and flipped off with two hands and shown no regard.

There was a time, before you were this, when you knew only one side of this line. A time when the coin fell heads up, every time. You were a good man, and you lived well in that certainty. In spiritual wealth, you could afford compassion, barely noting its cost. 

Then, the world betrayed you. The line was tripped and hell came, repeating itself again and again. Love and compassion, friendships you had paid your soul into, all fell away and left you barren.

Cruelty was an easy lover in a desperate nighttime, free and generous, with no restraint. But in the morning, it demanded more, tied you down and rode you until you willed yourself to forget all else. It left you empty and wanting more, left you ashamed. Compassion is weakness, it told you, an ugly thing not worth the price.

Part of you knew this wasn’t true. It twisted your gut and you wretched and wretched. So you tamped that sliver down, bleed and cursed and neglected it until it withered to nothing. Until you could hear only the faint whispers of a better man. 

You hear them still, on the quietest of nights, so you roar and do not listen.

You hollowed yourself until there are only echos of the man you had been, rattling in a prison of his own choosing.

You made your home in cruelty. You constructed empires and watched them fall, delighting in the ruins that remained. Trampled on the burning bodies and used their bones to build anew.

You did not look back. You did not regret. You did not spare time for memory or longing for the man you were.

Until them. 

Three small girls who tugged at you. 

You did not love them, you did not care for them. You are not a man who loves, you are not a man who cares for anything.

And yet. They tugged. 

They made you question yourself in a way you had long since resolved not to. They raised questions you had forgotten could be asked. Your heart stirred and the movement of it in your chest made you ill, like sea sickness that comes, hard and unexpected, on calm waters.

Time and time again, you used them. Cruelty to be sure, but with a gentle edge which made you uneasy, yet you still chose softness when they were at your fingertips.

Time and time again, you saved them. Compassion, with dark motives that dimmed it, drew it back towards the line, but could not fully erase it.

You resented the man who was privileged to call them daughters. Beautiful, innocent things that his dirty heart ought not lay claim to. Delicate things you did not want, but they tugged at the last fibers of a man who might have wanted, a man who was good and would have raised strong women. A man you had long since snuffed out.

You touched their lives in small ways, damnation and savior in one beast, and each time, you walked away with bile on your tongue. It bubbled up, sickly sweet and bitter, from your gut.

Time went by and war came. You watched it come like a different man might have watched dawn rising across the mountains. You prepared diligently, set the snares and readied yourself. With glee and giddy anticipation. 

Let it come. It was long since time, and you were ready to tear beating hearts from their bony cages. 

You were ready to break, ready to be broken so this hell could come to pass, one way or another, once and for all.

But even with all your work, all your preparation, the world managed to fuck you again. Took what little you had and ground it under uncompromising soles.

You are a little ashamed you’ve fallen for its tricks again, that wily minx called hope. You were so steady, so sure of yourself, and then you started buying into hope of a better life, hope of salvation from this shithole. And it has left you again, splayed on the snow, looking the fool. Hope, that clever bitch.

Fresh hell awaits, and let it come. Let it remind you of what you are now, since you seem to have forgotten. They tugged, and you forgot for a moment.

The line between cruelty and compassion is terribly thin.

You look up and your eyes find hers. The bullet comes and you have no doubt in her aim. You should have known she was the one to trust. She dances the same dance, walks the same line, a curse always on her lips.

A single shot, true and honest, between your eyes. The flames lick and you can’t help but laugh. So satisfying. 

You and she are two sides of the same  
coin, flipped and falling, not yet decided on which side of the line it will land. 

As your vision goes dark and the heat deafens you, you spare a moment to wish you could stay, to see how this ends.


End file.
